Starved of Your Presence

Starved of your presence as I am,

I take my seat upon the grimy,

rust - stained wharf, to read, among the dogs of deprivation.

Their pathetically forlorn eyes stare wistfully at me

And I descry in the depths of those sunken orbs

the dying dreams of hearth, home,

and touch of human hands.

Like wings, your message unfurls,

offering flight from the besmirched scenes about me.

Enraptured by your words, I envisage your face, your form

and ocean zephyr sweeps us out to sea,

where swells grow tall.

Upon the moonlit waves, beyond the great, grey shadows

where sullen slaves defend the freedom of the free,

we master the music of our love,

dance till its denouement,

singing its sharpest strains.

In my waking hour,

at the culmination of your amorous inscriptions,

I gaze once more into the eyes of some withered, feral scamp.

He is envious, for he knows - he sees in my eyes

the light of hope and home.

Copyright Christian Eskelund

03 August - 01 September

Rhodes, Greece and Persian Gulf